


Wash Away (My Colors)

by Gypsywriter135



Category: Ghost - Mystery Skulls (Music Video), Mystery Skulls (Band)
Genre: Gen, Not super Graphic, but it is pretty violent, think gollum from lotr when you read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3316466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gypsywriter135/pseuds/Gypsywriter135
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good things comes to those who wait...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wash Away (My Colors)

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd or proofread, as per usual.

He fell asleep.

He fell asleep and when he awoke, he was not sitting slumped over his workbench with his latest project pillowed beneath his head. There were no wooden walls surrounding him, no soft glow of the lights giving him the familiar comfort that he had come to love in the middle of the night. There was only silence, the lack of the clanking of tools or the friendly shout or the annoyed call of his uncle as the man yelled for him.

No, there was none of that.

There was simply him, a familiar hall smeared with red, and blood on his horribly mismatched hands.

Arthur stood in the hallway, blinking, confused and lightheaded and with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He glanced around, recognizing the house instantly, fond memories coming to the surface only to be squashed down. He looked down at his hands, his flesh one covered in slimy red liquid and the metal one stained just as dark, the blood seeping into the tiny cracks and crevices of the mechanism.

It wasn’t that that unnerved him, though.

It was the absolute silence that echoed like a foghorn around him.

He raised his hands, rubbing them together. The blood was still wet, but drying. Whatever had happened had been a while ago, yet still recent enough for him to wonder what, exactly, he was doing standing in this particular hall.

In a daze, Arthur moved forward, one foot in front of the other. He was in a daze as he walked slowly, following the blood on the white white walls to a well-known room, his heart hammering in his chest at the thought of what he might find.

Arthur had seen horror films before. Hell, most of the time he felt like he was in a horror film of his own making. He hated them; despised the scary spook and how utterly dumb the characters were in the movies, always moving towards the danger and lacking any and all common sense.

And yet here he was, purposely heading towards what he logically knew would be the product of his personal feature screenplay.

God, he was so stupid sometimes.

Still, his feet carried him down the hall, passed the bathroom, passed the pictures with splatters of blood, passed the point of no return.

Somehow, Arthur felt that that particular point had come and gone long ago, during the time where he honestly could not remember a single thing.

That frightened him the most.

He had reached the closed door now, stood before it, staring.

Despite what other people said, Arthur was a smart guy. He made his own mechanical arm from scratch, for god’s sake. He had patents on several of his inventions, could do long division and complicated math in his head in a matter of seconds, found the missing pieces faster than everyone else.

He could connect the dots that were practically being shoved in his face in no time.

Hesitantly, he raised his tainted arm, wrist cracking the blood that covered it, and grabbed the doorknob.

A voice in the back of his head screamed at him to run, to flee and get someone, anyone, to not go any further, that he was already incriminated just by the inital evidence and being here. But another voice, a louder one that sounded suspiciously and unnervingly like his own, argued to do it, to turn the knob and see what was inside, to gaze upon whatever work of bloody art resided behind the wood.

Arthur knew which voice he would listen too, barely had to think about it as he slowly twisted his wrist.

He opened the door.

Amber eyes fell upon the massacre within, everything he loved stained in a bright red as a cold light bathed the room in a flickering strobe of blame.

Arthur screamed.

* * *

He didn’t go to the funeral.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to go, he really truly did. It was more along the lines of “don’t go more than three miles from your home or you’ll be arrested-again” that kept him from going. There was also the accusing gazes, the harsh whispers and heated glares that followed him every time he stepped outside his house.

Also, he just really didn’t want to go.

So he stayed home while the whole town went to the funeral. He sat in his room, the lights off, blinds closed, and stared at the wall and wondered where his life had gone wrong.

The problem was, Arthur could pinpoint that exact moment.

“It’s not your fault,” the same voice in his head told him. “You’re not to blame.”

_But what if I am_ , he thought. _I was the one who did everything. It was all by my own hands._

“Nonsense,” was the response.

He shook his head, blinking in the darkness and wondering when the last time he slept was.

Because he was sure that the voice had come out of his own mouth.

* * *

 

Someone was banging on his door.

Someone was banging on his door and screaming at him but Arthur could feel himself only becoming more detached, rubbing his temples at the pounding in his head and the shaking his head as blackness slowly began to encroach his vision.

And yet the loud knocking persisted.

Scowling, he rose from his bed and stormed to the door, flinging it open. He winced slightly at the harsh light-

-And had barely opened his eyes before a large fist curled around his neck.

His eyes flew open and he scrambled, his one arm coming up to grip at the boney wrist that was attached to a furious Lewis. The skeleton glared at him, his empty eye sockets seemingly holding more hate than any living person could house.

“You,” Lewis spat, his fingers tightening around Arthur’s windpipe. The blond choked on no air. “You killed her.”

Arthur opened and closed his mouth, no words forth-coming, amber eyes wide and spilling over with tears as his lungs screamed for air.

“I _knew_ you weren’t to be trusted,” Lewis growled, bringing Arthur closer to him. The mechanic’s feet dangled above the ground, toes no where near to brushing the carpet. “I knew you were guilty, but Vivi insisted. She believed in you.”

Arthur gagged, single arm losing strength. He kicked out as a last ditch effort, his foot colliding with Lewis’ shin. The ghost dropped him and Arthur managed to clambered backwards out of his reach, heaving huge gasps of breath, his hand going up to his chest as his heart beat wildly behind his rib cage.

Lewis glared at him and stepped into the room; tried to, at least. He was stopped by an invisible barrier and somehow managed to scowl at the gasping Arthur.

“What did you do?” he snapped. “Why can’t I cross the threshold, Arthur?”

Still struggling for breath and unable to speak, Arthur reached forward and peeled the fraying carpet from the floorboards. Underneath was a sigil, carved in the wood. Lewis glower increased as Arthur got his breathing under control.

“You son of a bitch,” Lewis growled. “You mother fucker.”

“Lewis, I’m sorry!” Arthur exclaimed. “I knew you’d come, I just need you to-”

“To what? Listen to whatever _lie_ you concocted this time?”

“No, I-”

“Fool me once,” Lewis snarled, “shame on you. Fool me twice? I’m going to burn you alive.”

Something stirred at the back of his mind, and Arthur shivered.

“Please, Lewis,” he pleaded. “I need you to listen!”

“We’re past listening!” Lewis roared.

Arthur gulped. “I-I-I know,” he stammered. “Lewis, I just need- i-it was-”

“I’ll kill you,” Lewis promised, narrowing his eyes. “I’m going to burn you alive.”

Arthur’s stump twitched and a cold overcame him, green dancing in front of him. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but they didn’t go away.

He smiled against his will, canines flashing.

“That’s a heavy promise,” he purred with his voice, his mouth, but not his words. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid you’ll never get to fulfill that promise.”

Lewis tried to come after him, slamming into the clear wall. He growled, fire in his eyes and his hair alight. Deadbeats flew around him, desperately trying to assist their master, to help him, but they cannot get through either.

“You’re so stupid,” Arthur told him, easily gathering himself up with arms and legs that he had no control over. “Lewis, I’m disappointed. Even after you all came home, no one ever realized.”

“Realized what?” Lewis said, eyes narrowing and voice dangerous. “Arthur, I swear I’m going to-”

“-Kill me, yeah, yeah,” Arthur’s voice spilled from lips without his command. “You’re so predictable. Honestly, killing Vivi and that damned dog was the only thing to push you over the edge? Really, Lewis, I expected better from you.”

“You murdered Vivi in cold blood!” Lewis screamed, slamming a fist on the barrier. Arthur saw, huddle in the back of his mind, the ripples that his friend’s large fist caused.

Arthur felt his lips turn upward in a smile. “Ah, that was so much _fun_. She screamed, you know. She screamed and didn’t make a sound because the first thing I did was cut out her voicebox.”

Lewis screamed, bodily throwing himself against the door, still trapped on the other side. The Deadbeats began to wail, a haunting tune that made Arthur shiver. It was weird; he shivered, chills running up and down his spine, and yet his body remained unaffected.

“You monster!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Arthur’s voice gushed. “I took care of the real monster. Snapped the stupid mutt’s neck within seconds, never even saw it coming.”

The ghost continued to shout, his pounding increasing. Arthur wondered when the barrier would give, and began to calculate how long it would take Lewis to fly over the room and crush his windpipe once more.

He hoped it was quick.

Instead, he continued to smile and speak words that he didn’t think.

“It feels so _good_ to stretch my legs, after being kept inside for so long. Oh, how _wonderful_ all of this is.” He took a step towards the door. “And it’s all thanks… to _you_.”

Lewis paused, eyes narrowed as he stared with disgust and hate at Arthur. “What the _hell_ are you talking about? How is any of this _my_ fault?! _You’re_ the one who killed them, killed me! Everything you touch _dies_!”

Arthur winced in his dark corner. That was hurtful in a way that Lewis knew exactly what he was doing. The fact that the ghost hadn’t even hesitated said everything about what their relationship had become.

He felt his metal arm raise and tap his chin. “Hmm, interesting. Interesting indeed. You know, I wonder what Arthur would say to that…”

Arthur snapped his head up, eyes wide. He saw Lewis staring at him, confusion warring with the anger and rage on his face.

“What?”

“Arthur, tell the ghosty what you think.”

And suddenly, Arthur had control. He blinked, looking down at his hands, his shaking hands his trembling knees and he opened and closed his mouth when he glanced back up at Lewis.

“What the hell are you trying to pull?” Lewis snarled.

Swallowing, Arthur mustered up his courage. “Lewis, you have to believe me! I didn’t do it! There’s something else here, he’s got me under his-”

-and then suddenly he was shoved back into the dark corner of his mind, falling to his knees as he stared at Lewis.

“Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Artie,” he said with a smirk. “You’ll ruin all the fun, the surprise.”

_Please, just stop this, don’t do this!_ Arthur screamed, and yet he was not heard.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lewis hissed. He smacked the barrier again. “Tell me why the fuck I should listen to anything you have to say!”

“Oh, now, see,” Arthur’s mouth spewed. “You’ve gone and messed it all up. Now I have to tell you. Well, I guess it was fun while it lasted.” His teeth flashed as he smiled. “Lewis, Lewis, Lewis. You’re so caught up in everyone else, so consumed by your anger, that you didn’t even realize that your so-called ‘best friend’ had a _demon_ inside of him all along.”

Lewis froze. The Deadbeats stilled.

And that’s when Arthur’s voice began to chant.

Words flew off the walls, the sigil in the floor began to glow, and the Deadbeats screamed. Lewis banged on the wall in a panic as flames erupted around him. He howled in pain and rage and confusion and regret.

And Arthur, inside his own head, shouted with him, his only arm outstretched as if he could somehow stop it.

He was helpless.

Story of his life.

It was quiet when it was done, the only thing remaining the beating heart of Lewis on the floor. Arthur’s body skipped over to it and he looked down at it.

“Ah, so peaceful,” he said gleefully.

He brought up a leg and smashed his heel down on it, shattering the fragile glass.

“Oh, stop your blubbering.”

_You just killed Lewis!_

“Yeah. You’re welcome.”

_He was my friend!_

“He was an obstacle.”

_Okay, you’ve got what you wanted, please, just let me go!_

“Oh, Artie. I’m only getting started.”

_What?! What else could you possibly take from me?!_

“Trust me. You’re going to love this next part.”

Something grabbed him, pinning him down in the black hole. He was even more helpless now, blackness converging on his vision as his body strutted out of the room, down the steps, and out the front door. He crossed the lawn, heading to the familiar shop with friendly conversations already audible, the clanking of tools that should have been comforting only making his heart drop to his stomach.

_No!_ he cried. _No! Not them!_

“Oh, shush,” was the response he got before something clamped over his mouth.

Arthur struggled, desperately trying to free himself, to take back control. But it was useless, the demon had him now, he was too powerful.

“Hey, Uncle Lance!” his voice called, his metal arm rising in a wave. Arthur shook his head, trying with all his might to break free, to warn his uncle.

“Arthur, come help me with this engine,” Lance responded in lieu of a greeting. “I could use your expertise.”

“Sure thing.”

He felt his hand grab a stray screwdriver as he followed the shorter man, gripping the handle tightly.

When he felt the arm raise over his uncle as they gazed into an engine, Lance oblivious to anything wrong, Arthur looked away.

But while he couldn’t see, the screams and shouts were loud in his ears, echoing in the black around him.

They would haunt him for the rest of time.

* * *

 

He was crouched behind a stack of trash cans, curled up with his back against the wall and red and blue lights and the loud wails of sirens as they flew passed.

Arthur was in trouble.

He was in so much trouble and he was so far from home and he barely remembered any of it. There were blurs, flashes, shapes and colors and screams and cries and red and green, red and green, so much red and green everywhere, like a boat caught in a mist storm in the middle of the ocean.

“Don’t be a baby,” the voice that wasn’t his but used his mouth to speak said. “We just have to wait here for a little, let them scramble, and then we’ll be able to slip out, easy peasy.”

Arthur shivered, letting his butt hit the ground and drawing his knees to his chest. He buried his face in them.

“Why?” he whispered. “Why are you doing this?” He just wanted to go home, to go back to the way things were before… before everything.

“Please,” the other scoffed. “That will never happen. You can never go back.”

“Because of you,” Arthur cried softly, ducking his head as he heard footsteps run past.

“You were never going to be able to go back anyways. I merely decided to step up the game, actually have some fun instead of moping in the loser’s corner.” The voice sounded annoyed.

Arthur was just annoyed that words and thoughts that were not his own were using his mouth to speak.

“Oh, Artie boy,” he didn’t say. “You’re adorable. I took over your body once at the drop of a hat. I’ve had time since then.”

“Why me?” Arthur asked. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

He felt his mouth twist into a horrid smile that he was powerless to stop. “Because you were there, you were weak, and I was bored.”

Tears spilled out of his eyes and he tipped his head back to slam against the wall. “Stop, please. I just want to go home.”

“You have no home to go back to,” his voice snarled gleefully. “Remember?”

More tears streamed down his face and he smacked the back of his head on the bricks a few more times.

“That won’t make me go away,” the other smirked. “I’m here forever, Artie.”

“Please,” Arthur pleaded. “Just give me my life back.”

“And do _what_ with it?” he sounded angry. “You had _nothing_ before me! I gave you _something_!”

“You took away _everything_ from me!” Arthur exclaimed. “You took away my friends and my family and my home and left me with less than I’ve ever had!”

“I gave you courage, boy!” he growled. “You were a spineless worm when I first got here, barely able to ask for a pen to borrow and now look at you! I’ve given you guts and everything you need to stand up for yourself!”

“No,” Arthur muttered, shutting his eyes against the onslaught of water behind them. “No, I was happy before. Now I’m just… I’m just…”

“Kid, you got a funny definition of happy.”

“I-”

“You call taking a backseat to a group that you didn’t even feel like you belonged before happy? Traveling across the country for something that terrified you beyond measure, that’s happy? Living with your uncle because your parents are assholes that accept you is happy?”

“I was _fine_.”

“No, you were settling,” his voice hissed. Blackness began to creep around him and green spots appeared on the inside of Arthur’s eyelids. His eyes shot open in a sudden panic and he scrambled backwards, trying to paste himself against the wall.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a voice that was too high.

“Relax,” said his too smooth voice, completely opposite of the sentence he had just spoken. “You’re gonna be fine. Better than fine, actually.”

His vision was overcome with a green haze and his heart, hammering in his chest, slowed as something overtook him. He tried to speak, to cry out, to scream for help, someone, anyone, but his mouth remained shut, the ends of it curling up into a twisted smile.

Something that wasn’t him flexed his metal hand, the fingers moving against his will as his was shoved into a dark corner of his own mind, only able to watch and feel but not control his own body.

“Ah,” his voice said, his mouth forming words that he did not want. He felt his body stand. “That’s _so much better_.”

_Please_ , he cried, his own mouth no longer responding. His body was no longer his own. _Please, stop! I don’t want this!_

“Oh, relax, Artie,” his mouth told him. “You might not want this now, but you will. Just give it time.”

_No, please! I’ll never want this! What are you doing to me?!_

“Okay,” he felt his lips curl into a foreign expression. There was a window next to his head and the thing used his neck to turn to look at it.

Except it wasn’t Arthur that looked back at him. Oh, it was Arthur’s face, but the expression, the way his face was contorted, the _green eyes_ were nothing like Arthur.

“Now,” his mouth moved, forming words that were not his own. “Let’s have some _real_ fun.”

_No!_ Arthur screamed. He banged his fists on the invisible barrier that seemed to keep him trapped in his own mind, his body used against his will. _No, no, no no! Please, no, stop!_

“Stop?” his reflection asked, green eyes flashing brightly. “Why would I do that when I’m just getting started?”

Arthur yelled. He yelled and screamed and screeched and howled and yet made not a single sound. The only thing that came out of his-not his-mouth was a hollow, bone-chilling chuckle.

* * *

 

“In other news, another murder was discovered today. This time it was twenty-four year old Cecilia ‘Cici’ Wilson. The police were called in when the young woman, the manager at a specialized action figure store, failed to show up for work this morning. When they went to her home, they found the door still locked from the inside, and Cici’s body in her room. They would not release the state of the body, but witnesses say that it was likely a match to the other murders heard around the country.

“Chief Benjamin did not have an official statement to give at the scene, but he did mention that ‘the woman was in horrible condition. There was no sign of a forced entry, so she likely knew her murderer. What is most puzzling is the lack of an escape route, almost as if the attacker vanished into thin air’.

“One officer, who wished to remain anonymous, mentioned that he thought that this murder could be tied to the others that match the same M.O. from the last year.

“As you’re all aware, Arthur Kingsmen is wanted for the murder of Vivi Harada back in July, and several members of his small Colorado town later in August, including his uncle and several of his coworkers. He is still missing and presumably at large. There is nothing to place him here at the scene of this crime, but the fact that Cici’s murder is almost identical, according to eye-witnesses, to that of Vivi’s, as well as several others since then.

“If anyone has any information on Arthur or knows his whereabouts, please call the hotline at the bottom of the screen.”

 


End file.
